


A Sort of Loveable Thing

by Vagabond



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, frederick run away he's going to kill people and frame you for murder, i don't want to talk about it, this is my guilt ship, you silly fickle man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick would rather leave, but Hannibal has convinced him staying is sort of okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sort of Loveable Thing

**Author's Note:**

> They are a sickness and all Hannibal wants to do is kill and eat him but I love them anyway.

Hannibal touches him gently, almost reverently. It leaves Frederick wondering why most of the time as they lay in bed after fucking like teenagers. The first time they’d done it, he’d moved to leave. After all, they were grown men engaging in a bit of stress relief, nothing more. However, Hannibal had caught him around the waist and pulled him back down onto the bed with ease.

At the time he’d marveled over the other man’s strength as Hannibal’s chest rumbled while he told Frederick to stay.

The next time he didn’t leave, neither did he leave the time after that.

Lying on the bed he shivers when Hannibal’s fingertips trace along his collarbone. When he opens his eyes and peers at the other man’s face he struggles to decipher his expression. There’s something about Hannibal which teeters on the edge of mysterious. While there are times he is able to read the other man and see that he is amused, annoyed, or something in-between, there are other times when Hannibal’s face is an unreadable mask. In those moments he seems unreal. 

Frederick always wants to know what he’s thinking but knows better than to ask. 

“What do you see when you look at me?” Frederick asks, knowing it is a safe enough question. They’re staying away from feelings and focusing on perspective. Obviously Hannibal sees something Frederick doesn’t, because when Frederick looks in the mirror all he sees is a scar he’d rather forget.

“Sheer stubborn will,” Hannibal replies easily as he presses a warm kiss to Frederick’s ribs. Frederick just chuckles and lets his eyes slide shut again.

“You’re not wrong.”

“Perhaps I should ask you what you see when you look at yourself.”

“Come on Hannibal,” there’s a soft whine that accompanies Frederick’s words and it turns into a groan as the other man sucks a mark into his skin right next to his scar. When all that follows is silence, Frederick sighs and reaches out blindly. His fingers find their destination and brush through Hannibal’s hair.

“You do not have to answer the question simply because it was asked,” Hannibal points out and Frederick finally opens his eyes to look down. He finds Hannibal is watching him patiently, one of his hands splayed over Frederick’s stomach, over his scar.

“Do you really want to know? I have a feeling you’re not going to like or accept the answer.” Frederick tilts his head, his hair no doubt sticking up in odd directions. Hannibal liked messing up his hair.

“I wouldn’t have asked, Frederick.”

“I see Abel Gideon standing over me. I see Freddie Lounds’ curly red hair. I see a lot of blood and my own hands trying to hold my guts in. I remember a great deal more about that night than I care to admit and when I look at the scar that’s what I see. It was a moment of helpless weakness and that’s what I see when I look in the mirror.” His lips curl down into a bit of a frown as he turns his gaze up to the ceiling. 

“Do you dream about it as well?”

“Of course I do,” Frederick scoffs, “wouldn’t be a traumatic experience if it didn’t haunt me most nights.”

Hannibal shifts up so that his elbow rests on the pillow and his head rests on his propped up hand. His other hand takes its place on Frederick’s chest, thumb idly stroking through the dusting of chest hair there. Frederick avoids the other man’s gaze until he’s pulled into it, driven by gravity like the moon to the earth. There’s compassion there, and beneath it, curiosity he’s certain he will never be able to satisfy.

He’s another puzzle for Hannibal to mull over, just like Will Graham, or Jack Crawford, or any of the other people Hannibal gazes at like a curious cat. It makes Frederick wonder about Hannibal’s intentions, but he pushes all those thoughts away in favor of trust. Hannibal hasn’t hurt him, so there’s no use is wondering when the other shoe will fall.

When Hannibal leans in and presses their lips together he lets it happen, even though it makes his stomach flip. There’s a certain degree of intimacy Frederick still avoids in his interactions with Hannibal. The sex is fine, but afterward it begins to feel a little bit like love and he’s not willing to open himself up to that. Yet the way Hannibal’s lips brush against his is extremely tempting as his lips part and the other man claims his mouth. Each stroke of tongue and gentle pinch of teeth is altogether reverent and Frederick is undeserving.

They kiss for a while and Hannibal’s hand wanders, simply touching, as neither of them would be able to go a second round. It is in moments like these Frederick wonders if they’ll ever be more than a casual fling and then decides it isn’t worth wondering about. What matters is that in the present, Hannibal makes him feel like some sort of lovable thing and he likes it very much.


End file.
